Among the giants

In the seas off Patagonia, right whales (so called because they were 'right' for hunting) gather to breed. Acclaimed photographer Sebastião Salgado, on the latest stage of his epic Genesis project, spent weeks in their company, and saw the ocean turn into a jumping field

We spent entire days at sea in the company of the southern right whales off the coast of Patagonia, days when I felt the most intense emotions of my life. Most of the time, the wind was strong — the ocean was unpredictable and beautiful, with strange, ever changing lights. We used small, fast boats, usually leaving in the early hours when the light was starting to appear, taking with us food for the day, water and a little good red Argentinian malbec wine. The temperature was low and the sea icy cold.

Whales come here each year for breeding. The number of whales in the two gulfs (Golfo San José and Golfo Nuevo, off the Peninsula Valdes on the Patagonian coast of Argentina, a Unesco World Heritage site) is uncertain. Estimates range from 500 to 700 — quite a few considering there are probably only 2,800 in the world, scattered through their ancient habitat that goes from South Africa, the Tristán da Cunha Island, to the eastern coast of South America. Two centuries ago, the number of right whales was around 200,000 to 300,000. It is said that the 21st century will probably see the end of this species above the Equator.

Spending 12 hours or more at sea for weeks on end, you come to learn a lot about the behaviour of these whales, and their interest in us is as intense as ours in them. Moving a short distance away from the coast and cutting off the engine was sufficient to invite the whales to come close. First, a young one would approach and move to the rear of the boat, toward the engine, maybe to find out the origin of the noise; then the mother would arrive. If the young one was still a baby, she would push him away, but if he was bigger, she would let him play near the boat, and sometimes come so close herself that we could have touched her head with our hands.

That is why this type of whale was named ballena franca (right whale) — they have always been the favourite prey of whale hunters, because they approach so near and because they float when dead (other whales sink down into the waters, forcing hunters to drag them to the boats as soon as they have killed them). So, from the very beginning, they have been considered the "right" whale to kill: they're accessible, they swim relatively slowly, they congregate close to the coast for several months each year. Hunters have only to tow them to a place where they can be cut up. This has been the perfect recipe for the extinction of these whales.

We'd spend a good part of the day waiting for the best light. Sometimes the whales would have their mouths wide open, and we could see the lateral threads (plates of whalebone), which looked almost like a beard. That is how the whale filters its food; whales are not fish but mammals, and these particular ones feed on plankton and krill, a small marine crustacean weighing only a gram or so.

Sometimes we would see the whales jumping out of the water. It rarely happened near our boat, so we had to use full engine speed to get closer to photograph this grand show of nature. Surely it is one of the most impressive sights you can encounter: a huge shape, weighing over 40 tonnes, leaping towards the sky and then splashing massively back into the water with a deafening sound that can be heard several kilometres away. Why do they do it? There are many theories — to get rid of the pieces of their skin in permanent mutation; to have a better perception of their surroundings; to get rid of skin parasites (ciamides, called whale lice); or to communicate with other whales. What I have observed is that, indeed, when one whale jumps, others in the distance jump shortly after. Some days, almost all the whales around jump, even young ones; other days, there is no jumping at all and this can last for several days; then, one day, the entire ocean becomes a jumping field again.

At times we could see whales swimming with their body immersed and only their enormous tail, 5m or 6m wide and 2m high, standing straight up; other times, we would see them lying motionless in the sea, their tail spread like a huge sail above the water. Or else, all of a sudden, they would strike their tails down on to the water with immense strength and noise, as if they had become infuriated.

Each day we would go to different spots, hoping to witness the various daily activities of the whales — some would regroup for mating, or females and young ones would head for deeper waters together, the females leaving the young to play near the surface while they dived deep down, probably to gather food. Once, as we were a little distance off the coast, we saw an enormous whale with her young alongside her moving towards us: we were eating and our engine was off. As he saw them swimming at full speed toward the boat about 100m away, Diego, the captain of the boat, said, "Here come visitors." We all looked towards them and, when they were about 5m away, Diego screamed, "They are asleep, they're swimming in sleep, they'll hit us and explode the boat!" We all were paralysed with fear and expectation of the impact, but finally we felt only a slight tremor as there was a light contact and the whales dived under immediately and reappeared 100m farther away, continuing their speedy progress as if nothing had happened.

After a while, you fall into a pattern: we always ended up visiting a specific whale that we had come across by chance at the beginning. This whale was rather large and very beautiful, she had her young with her, a baby still. We could identify her by the special callosities on her face and marks on her tail. We named the whale Adelita, and she ended up becoming our pal. At first, she would not let her baby approach; however, with time, little by little, she let him come closer and closer. In the end, he would constantly play around the boat.

Each time Adelita would see our boat, she would come to us, leaning her head to the side, with one eye out of the water, to watch and identify us. Sometimes her tail would be out of the water so close to the boat that it was impossible to photograph her; other times, she would turn her back on us and would grab her baby with her flippers and play around with him exactly the way humans would play with their children. Occasionally, she would leave her baby by the boat and move away to make several enormous jumps. Then she would come back, seemingly relaxed having expended so much energy.

After six weeks in the waters of this marvellous area of Patagonia, I left with a pang, but feeling full of energy and peace having experienced the conviviality of the largest and most delicate animals of our planet. Next year, I will return to this area to continue my work, this time with orcas, penguins and elephant seals. The whales at that time of the year will be gone to the southern seas off Antarctica.